


you love the sea

by hexmionegranger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Scotland, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexmionegranger/pseuds/hexmionegranger
Summary: Marcus shifted a little closer to Oliver on the couch, strangely entranced by all the mythology talk - even though it was clearly just stories, passed around to keep children away from the water. “Right. Didn’t realize there were so many horse shapeshifters. I thought it was, ah, seals, no? What’re those ones? Sellies?”Oliver’s face twitched into a frown so quick that Marcus still wasn’t sure if he’d seen it by the time the man was smiling again. “Selkies.” He corrected. “You’re right there though, though they’re a little different of a breed of shapeshifter, y’see,” Oliver trailed off, and let his eyes close.“Different?” Marcus pushed, forcing himself not to reach out and brush a strand of blonde hair away from Oliver’s now peaceful face.“Mmm,” Oliver hummed, nodding a little. “They can shed their skins, see, and become humans. But… only for a short time. And, while they’re human, they’ll always be drawn to the sea…”





	1. part one - clotho [creation]

**Author's Note:**

> _I’m not excited, but should I be?_   
>  _is this the fate that half of the world has planned for me?_   
>  _I know I love you_   
>  _and you love the sea_   
>  _but what holy water contains a little drop, little drop for me?_
> 
> \- unbelievers, _vampire weekend_

The last of his bags landed with a thud on the wooden floor of the old cottage, and Marcus dropped ungracefully down beside it with a loud huff of exhaled air. He took a moment to catch his breath before he glanced around the room - there were boxes on every available surface and two duffel bags beside him at the door. His entire life, packed up and carefully wrapped and it looked like so much less _stuff_ than it should have been - shouldn’t twenty five years take up more space?

Shaking away the morose thought that he had nothing that mattered and no one who cared, and _that’s_ why this room looked so woefully empty, Marcus forced himself to his feet. He grabbed a small box from the living room couch, then padded into the small kitchen of the cottage, surveying the space as he went. He had purchased the place with the furniture included but this was his first time seeing it in person, and it was certainly as… _quaint_ … as had been advertised.

Marcus dropped the box onto the small kitchen table and pried it open, digging through until he pulled out something that felt mug like. It took him entirely too long to pull off the paper that had been wrapped carefully around it to prevent breakage in transit, and he silently cursed Pansy for her over-the-top precautions, especially since it was just a stupid plain mug anyways.

He reached the sink and cranked the tap on, pleased that the water that came out looked drinkable. As his cup filled he glanced up to look out the window and when his eyes focused he nearly dropped the mug in awe. It was stunning. His friends had all looked at him like he’d grown a second head when he sat them down and explained that he’d purchased a small cottage in the Orkney islands in Northern Scotland, but now that he was here he knew he’d made the right choice. The cottage was a little ways from the nearest town and up on a piece of higher land, and from his kitchen window he had the most incredible view of the ocean. His property sloped downwards and ended in a sandy beach interspersed with large boulders, entirely private according to the girl who had sold him the property.

After Marcus’s father had died, he stepped back to take a long look at the life he was creating for himself. His father had been part of the Death Eaters, one of the most notorious gangs in London, and Marcus was set to join up as soon as he, according to Thoros, “pulled his head out of his arse”. Then there’d been a major raid, organized and carried out by some orphan police officer whose parents had been murdered twenty odd years ago by the gang, and now _Marcus_ was an orphan with no prospects. By the time the press had figured out where he lived, he had fallen so deeply into depression he almost walked out into the madness of it all and surrendered to the inevitable.

And then Adrian had, quite literally, smacked some sense into him and told him to get out of town for a bit, move to the coast, recollect himself, and come back when he was ready.

Adrian hadn’t quite been expecting him to go _this far_ , but something had tugged at his heart and this cottage showed up for sale and everything just… fell into place.

Marcus took a large drink of the water he had poured, and then without a second thought he dropped the cup in the sink and headed out the door. It didn’t take him long to find the staircase crudely carved into the side of the hill and he kicked off his shoes at the bottom, taking a deep breath before stepping into the water. It was cold against his skin and he let out a quiet yelp but didn’t move. Instead, he held still for a few moments, felt the motion of the waves push and pull against his skin, then he waded over to a boulder that sat on the beach and climbed up onto it.

He sat for a long time, thinking about the last week and how quickly he had ended up here; about all of the steps that led him here. Now that he had finally slowed down, all of the feelings that he had been pushing back for weeks started to slip through the wall he had been building. Before he knew it, a sob wracked his body and he began to cry. All Marcus could think of was his father - the stoic but proud man, who was a criminal but a good father, a harsh man but a gentle leader, a lonely person who had lost the love of his life and had carried on despite it. Tears rolled down Marcus’s cheek and as his sobs quieted, he realized he could hear them drip into the water below him.

Finally, Marcus took a deep shuddering breath and reached up to rub at his face with the heels of his hands, and opened his eyes.

And almost fell off the rock he was perched on.

Not ten feet in front of him was a seal. Large, with smooth dark grey skin on its head, and spots of lighter sandy beige across the front of its chest - at least, what Marcus could see peeking out of the water. The seal had large nearly black eyes which seemed to be… watching him.

Marcus frowned, and swayed slightly to the left. The seal slowly turned his head to track Marcus’s movement. Marcus swayed to the right, and the seal spun in the water, eyes never leaving Marcus’s face. When he met the animal’s eyes again, he let out an involuntary shudder - something ice cold had slithered down his spin and settled into his gut and he couldn’t help but grit his teeth against the unpleasant sensation. There was a splash in the water and when he looked up again the seal had moved nearly two foot closer, and then stilled in the water, never taking his eyes off of Marcus.

Marcus and the seal sat for what felt like an eternity, though was probably more like twenty minutes, and then finally Marcus felt the cold Scottish air and realized his toes were going numb now that the summer sunshine had started to set, and he let out a sigh and turned and headed back up the beach.

By the time he reached his house, when he glanced back to the water one last time, the seal had gone, and he wondered if all of it had been some fever dream brought on by lack of sleep and the acute stress of the last few days. At the very least, he decided to leave the packing to the next day. He dug out a blanket from one of his duffle bags and wrapped it around himself as he crawled into the cottage’s small bed and managed to fall asleep.

* * *

Marcus had been in the cottage for nearly two weeks, and he was finally starting to settle in. Minus two or three stray boxes he was completely unpacked, and he had managed to find his way into town to pick up groceries. The people in the town were nice, if a bit standoffish - understandable, as he was the city boy outsider. Besides, he hadn’t moved out here expecting to make friends; he had come for the privacy and was very much enjoying just that.

In fact, Marcus had just been thinking about how nice it was to spend his days never having to worry about other people when he glanced out of his kitchen window and down towards the beach.

And realized that something was wrong.

Because there was someone sitting on his rock. On his beach. On his private property.

Narrowing his eyes, he shoved his feet into the sandals that now lived by the back door and headed down the hill towards the beach, getting ready to give this asshole who was trespassing on his property a piece of his mind.

When he was about twenty feet away, he realized something was more than wrong. Because not only was there a person lying out sunning on his rock, but there was in fact a _very naked man_ lying out sunning on his favourite rock.

“Hullo?” Marcus called out, forcing himself to look at the man’s _face_ and not his body. That wasn’t a much better solution, unfortunately, because the man also happened to be… rather gorgeous. He had sandy beige hair that fell almost artfully across his forehead, and a smooth swooping jawline, and soft looking lips that left a tight sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Marcus cleared his throat and stepped a little closer. “Er, excuse me?” He tried again, a little louder, glancing around for any sign of who this man might happen to be. There was a pile of what looked like clothes next to the man, but it also looked almost… wet. And the texture seemed off from where Marcus was standing, though the sun was at an odd angle.

He took another step and then tripped on one of the rocks jutting out of the ground and let out a shout and a few choice curse words, and then - as if in slow motion - the man from the rock sat up and spun towards him. Marcus was still recovering from his trip and before he could say anything, the man grabbed the pile of clothes beside him and leapt off the rock and forwards into the ocean.

“What the fuck?!” Marcus shouted, stumbling forward as he rushed for the rock. “Hey!” He shouted again, and kicked off his sandals to climb up onto the rock. It might have been summer, but it was still Northern Scotland and it was far from anything considering warm, and this man had just dove into the _sea_. Marcus peered through the dark water and couldn’t see the man, and glancing out towards the horizon he couldn’t see a boat in the smaller cove surrounding his beach either.

Finally, he gave up. The man must have just been a fast swimmer and gone in a different direction - but it still didn’t make _sense_. Why would someone boat over to his beach, swim in, sun out on a rock right up on the land, and then take off? He clearly knew he was trespassing - but there were miles of unclaimed beach around him. Why not just go somewhere else?

Marcus lifted a hand to run through his curly hair and let out a sigh, finally sitting back onto the rock.

And then he heard a splash.

Convinced it must be the man finally coming up for air, Marcus glanced over towards the noise, and nearly shouted again in surprise.

There was a seal floating happily in the water.

Watching him.

And it wasn’t just any seal. He wasn’t entirely sure _how_ he knew, because obviously there was no way to be really sure - he hadn’t seen that many seals in his life, after all - but he _knew_ that it was the same seal that he had seen before. He caught the creatures eyes and blinked, shook his head, and opened them again. The seal was still there. And still watching him.

Marcus shook his head and turned away from the water. “I need a whiskey,” he grumbled aloud, hoping it would snap him out of whatever it was that had him convinced strange men dove away into the ocean and a seal was stalking him, and then headed up off the beach back towards the cottage.

* * *

Three weeks later, Marcus saw him again.

He had just come back from his daily run and had been wiping the sweat off his forehead and seriously contemplating jumping in the sea for a quick refresher when he realized that, once more, there was someone on his rock.

This time, he walked down towards the water as quietly as he could, making sure not to trip over anything in the sand. He made it to only half a dozen or so feet away from the man, and this time took a moment to scan his eyes over the other’s naked form. He knew it wasn’t really _alright_ , to be staring at someone who seemed to be nearly asleep in the high midday sun, but it _was_ his rock and his beach. And he hadn’t really seen many people at all in the last month, and certainly no one as fit as the sandy haired man was.

Swallowing, he decided on a different tactic. “Hey there,” he tried, voice softer and not as aggressive.

It still didn’t seem to be enough, because the man shot up again and had one hand on his pile of clothes before Marcus was able to get another word in.

“Wait!” He managed, and luckily - shockingly - the man paused. “Hi,” he tried, and then cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on the man’s face instead of his gorgeous body. “I’m Marcus.”

The man seemed to hesitate, and Marcus watched as a pair of stunning sea blue eyes flicked over his face. Just when he was about to give up, the man spoke.

“Oliver.”

Oliver. Marcus couldn’t help but roll the name around in his mind, and as it settled he decided he _quite_ liked it. The man had a Scottish accent that sounded charming, and Marcus briefly thought that it was an accent he could get used to hearing. “What are you up to, Oliver?” He tried, not wanting to scare the man off but still not entirely sure _why_ he was on Marcus’s beach in the first place.

Oliver frowned, his eyebrows drawing together and his lips narrowing. “Didn’t you-” Oliver stopped then, and seemed to think this over for another long moment and just as Marcus was about to say something else, he shook his head. “Just enjoying the sun.”

It was Marcus’s turn to frown, and he glanced up at the sky. Sure, it was a relatively nice day all things considered. There wasn’t too much wind on the beach, and the sun was doing it’s best to warm the day up. But it wasn’t what he would call _warm_ , really.

“I, uh, live up in the cottage there,” Marcus said, suddenly not sure what else to say to the strange man, and turned to gesture up at his cottage. As soon as his back was turned, though, there was a splash, and he nearly shouted as he spun back only to find the rock empty.

He took a deep, frustrated breath, and shook his head.

Maybe he needed to go back to London for a weekend. Clearly the solitude was starting to drive him actually crazy.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Marcus to discover that the previous owner of the cottage had left behind more than just furniture. One day, while walking along the beach, he stumbled across a small shed that was mostly sheltered from the elements - as well as his view. It took him another day to break open the lock, and when he finally did he was delighted to find a small two man sailboat stashed away inside.

The next day he made the trek into town and returned with arms filled with bags. Resin, sail thread, sealant, everything he could think of and remember back from the days when his father had signed him up for lessons in the summer at the local yacht club to “keep him busy”.

For the first time since he moved up north, Marcus felt like he had a purpose. He worked on the sailboat for nearly a week straight, and occasionally after long nights and too much resin work, he glanced out to the water and was convinced he could see the head of a seal bobbing along in the surf.

Finally, he had a nice day - with clear skies and a relatively stable wind, and he hauled the boat out to the water and pushed off. When his sails puffed out with wind he let out a whoop of laughter and tightened the main sheet, pulling the tiller and heading off into the water.

He’d been out for nearly an hour when he realized that he wasn’t alone in the water. Turning his boat into irons, he glanced around to look for the sound of a splash he was sure he’d heard. A minute later, the familiar seal’s head popped out of the water and Marcus couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Hey buddy,” he said, reaching a hand out towards the creature. He had decided earlier in the week that there was no way it could be the same seal, but it also didn’t really _matter_ (or so he was trying to convince himself), and so why not be friendly? Marcus splashed his palm against the water and then the seal gave a kick and was suddenly right next to his boat.

Tentatively, Marcus reached out and ran his hand along the side of the creature and couldn’t stop the grin that broke out over his face. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting, but the seal was soft and smooth and Marcus let his hand drift over the creature a few times before he finally pulled his hand back to pick up his main sheet and turn his boat back in the direction of his home.

He still wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he decided to pack up and move to a tiny island in the north of Scotland, but he was starting to be more and more grateful for whatever bit of fate that had tugged him in this direction.


	2. part two - lachesis [connection]

Marcus had never quite realized, before, that he could actually _be_ lonely. He had spent his entire life surrounded by friends - other gang members kids, for the most part - and when he had decided to move away, one of the things he had been looking forward too was getting to skip all of their parties and not have to listen to their rambling and complaining and _drama_. But instead, he found himself… wondering. Wondering if Adrian had ever told Terry how he felt. Wondering if Draco had finally proposed to the fluffy haired girl.

When his phone rang, he took one look at the caller ID and hit answer before he had even decided he wanted to speak to her.

“Parkinson,” he breathed out, trying not to sound as desperate for human contact as he felt.

“Marcus!!” Came the half-shrill excited voice from the other end of the line. “Oh my GOD Marcus you have been gone literally forever, and then you don’t even return my texts? I thought we were _friends_ you know.”

“Pansy,” he managed to laugh in response, “we’ve never been friends.”

“Oh, don’t be an idiot, Marc. You’ve known me since I was in nappies.”

Marcus couldn’t stop the grin that broke out on his face and he headed out of the cottage to sit on his front lawn, just in case he lost cell reception. “Sure, Pans. What do I owe the honor, then, for the phone call?”

He could nearly _hear_ the girl on the other end of the line rolling her eyes, and he couldn’t stop the joy that bubbled up in his chest, just a little, at the reminder that he actually did have people who cared about him. That he wasn’t the only person in the world - him and the mysterious quite possibly not real naked man from his beach.

“Well, you just kind of dropped off the face of the planet. We thought you were dead.”

Marcus shrugged and shifted on the grass, plucking a strand out of the earth and then remembering that Pansy couldn’t see him and he needed to respond verbally. “Sorry. I’ve been… relaxing, I guess.”

“When are you going to be home?” She pressed, and Marcus shrugged again, then winced when he realized she was still waiting for an answer.

“Dunno, Pans. I like it out here. Open space, cold water, no annoying reporters from the Daily Prophet banging on my door and demanding a story about my dad’s death.”

Pansy sighed into the phone, and while it sounded frustrated, Marcus was pretty sure the younger girl was trying to express sympathy. “Oh. Are you okay, Marcus? Really okay?”

Marcus paused for a moment, scanning his eyes over the empty land, the rocky crags, the sea that stretched out endlessly before him. He couldn’t help but look down towards the water, and when his eyes landed on the rock on the beach and the naked man stretched out on top of it, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, Pans. Really, really okay.”

The phone went silent for a moment, and Marcus knew Pansy was trying to decode his answer, figure out if he was serious. She’d always been like that - calculating and careful. She had always looked out for them all, even though he was a few years older than she was, and it warmed his heart to know it was genuine.

“I gotta go, Pansy,” Marcus blurted out, already on his feet and heading down towards the water. Something was pulling him towards the man on the rock again, and he waited for Pansy to say her goodbyes and then he hung up the phone, and sped up towards the water.

* * *

“Oliver! Please don’t run away again!” Marcus called, in as gentle of a voice as he could (not _that_ gentle, but it had never been one of his strengths) as he hit the sand and made it halfway towards the rock. “I don’t know where you’re going but…”

Before he could finish his sentence, the man on the rock - Oliver, his brain supplied helpfully - had sat up and turned towards him. And even though one of his hands was on the pile of clothes beside him, the man's full attention seemed focused on Marcus. His full attention, and a winning grin full of bright straight teeth.

Marcus swallowed, and slowed, and then stopped a few feet away. Usually, Marcus was good at self control, at thinking things through before saying them and only saying things that were important.

Usually, he wasn’t four feet away from a gorgeous naked man who was smiling at him like he hung the moon.

“Will you get dinner with me?” He blurted out, and then swallowed hard when he realized what he’d done. He still wasn’t sure this man wasn’t just a hallucination, or at least a lunatic, but he had been so lonely, and speaking to Pansy had reminded him that it was actually nice - sometimes - to be around people. And now it was too late to take it back, because Oliver was nodding.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Seven,” Oliver confirmed, and then he - once more - turned to jump into the water.

* * *

Seven came both far too quickly and slower than Marcus could handle. By six-forty-five, he was pacing the small cottage, glancing in every mirror, trying to decide if his hair looked alright (it always looked the same - curly and short) and wondering if this was a good idea. When six-fifty-eight rolled around and Oliver still wasn’t there, he convinced himself that he had definitely just hallucinated the man and was nearly ready to dig out the phone book and try and find a local physician.

At seven, almost exactly on the dot, there was a knock on his door. Marcus was so tightly wound up with tension and anxiety and stress that he nearly shouted, but he managed to contain it and instead took a breath and pulled open the door.

Oliver was standing there, very much _not_ naked (probably for the best, Marcus reasoned), and holding a single red rose, which he offered out with a grin that Marcus couldn’t quite place. Marcus reached out and caught the flower, his fingers brushing over Oliver’s as he did so, and he couldn’t stop the shiver that tingled down his spine at the contact.

Maybe he really had been alone for too long.

“Hi,” he greeted, managing up his own careful smile to the man in front of him. “Just lemme, uh, put this in some water.”

“No problem,” Oliver called after him as Marcus headed for the kitchen. “I, uh, brought dinner with me, though.”

Marcus paused in the hallway and turned back towards Oliver, who’s grin had grown as he pulled his other hand from behind his back and lifted up a large take away bag.

“Oh,” Marcus mumbled, and then nodded once. “Right, follow me then, kitchen’s through here.”

It didn’t take the two of them long to get the food (delicious smelling Indian) unpacked and spread out on Marcus’s small table, and then they were sitting across from each other, each with a plate of food. The air had settled around them and Marcus was shocked at how comfortable it felt, how much sitting across from this strange man seemed to feel like… coming home.

* * *

Most of the evening passed in a blur of heated discussion and a bottle or two of wine. Oliver, it turned out, also loved to sail, and they had spent nearly an hour discussing everything from their preferred size of boat (Oliver was a fan of tiny dingy’s, whereas Marcus was much happier in slightly larger crafts) to whether or not you needed a lifejacket to sail (Marcus was of the mind that if you didn’t know how to swim, you didn’t deserve to be on the water at all). Oliver was brilliant, sharp and quick and combative, and more than once he riled Marcus up to the point of nearly anger before cracking a joke that sent them both into laughter. Marcus was usually so guarded, but there was something about Oliver that left him feeling… _safe_.

“So,” Marcus sighed out, stretching a little out onto the living room couch where they had moved after cleaning up from their (delicious) meal. “Did you grow up around here?”

Oliver paused at this and something that looked suspiciously like mischief twinkled in his eyes. “Yeah, I grew up around the Islands,” he shrugged noncommittally, but grinned at Marcus as he spoke. “Just a good ol’ Scottish lad.”

Marcus laughed and tilted his head back against the couch behind him, head heavy from the wine and good food. “Scotland’s beautiful,” he admitted, turning his head to skim his eyes over Oliver’s face in the dim light of his living room. “Do you like living here?”

Oliver mirrored his body language, leaning his head back against the couch and then turning to look at Marcus. “Yeah, I do. Y’know, the whole country…” Oliver trailed off, clearly thinking through his words. “’S magical.”

“Magical?” Marcus nearly scoffed, trying to bite back his grin and failing. “What, like, the weird sisters and the Loch Ness monster?”

The twinkle in Oliver’s eye seemed to spread, but he managed to shrug as well. “Nessie’s no monster. Just a kelpie.”

One of Marcus’s brows raised and he wondered briefly if his impression of this man as basically sane had been wrong after all. “A kelpie?”

“Yeah. They’re, ah… shapeshifters, I s’pose you’d call them. Water spirits. Part human, part horse. Typically benevolent - they’re said to keep small children away from the water so they don’t drown. Different, of course, than the tangie.”

“Tangie?” Marcus pressed, clearly trying to keep the amusement out of his voice and at least pretend to be serious, if only because Oliver was approaching it all so simply.

Oliver nodded. “Mmm. Also horse-human water spirits, though they’ve got a nasty habit of abducting young lasses and devouring them.”

Marcus shifted a little closer to Oliver on the couch, strangely entranced by all the mythology talk - even though it was clearly just stories, passed around to keep children away from the water. “Right. Didn’t realize there were so many horse shapeshifters. I thought it was, ah, seals, no? What’re those ones? Sellies?”

Oliver’s face twitched into a frown so quick that Marcus still wasn’t sure if he’d seen it by the time the man was smiling again. “Sel _kies_.” He corrected. “You’re right there though, though they’re a little different of a breed of shapeshifter, y’see,” Oliver trailed off, and let his eyes close.

“Different?” Marcus pushed, forcing himself not to reach out and brush a strand of blonde hair away from Oliver’s now peaceful face.

“Mmm,” Oliver hummed, nodding a little. “They can shed their skins, see, and become humans. But… only for a short time. And, while they’re human, they’ll always be drawn to the sea…”

“Do they abduct women too?” Marcus asked, shifting a little so he could better watch the way Oliver’s chest rose and fell as he breathed.

Oliver’s eyes snapped open and he turned to nearly glare at the man beside him. “Of course not. They… look for people who aren’t satisfied, yeah? You can -” he paused, and made a face, and then managed another smile for Marcus. “Legend goes that you can summon them, with tears. Lonely fishermen would cry into the ocean and find themselves with beautiful wives. They’d even fall in love…”

“But I thought…” Marcus paused and lifted a hand to scratch at his hairline, clearly in concentration. “How could they get married, if selkies can’t stay human for very long?”

“Ahh,” Oliver’s grin grew, and he sat up a little, turning his whole body towards Marcus. “That’s simple. True love.”

Marcus laughed now, and also sat up a little. “Right. True love.”

“Yes,” Oliver said, a little firmer this time. “It was said that sometimes, people would fall in love, and steal a selkie’s coat. That way, the selkies _couldn’t_ go back to the sea.”

“What if,” Marcus asked, words tumbling from his mouth faster than he could think them, “the selkie falls in love too?”

Something shifted in Oliver’s expression, and while he was still grinning, he had also turned to look out the window, glancing out towards the water. “Good question. We,” he paused, shook his head, and turned back to Marcus. “The Scots, I mean, well. It’s hard to say. The way the stories go, the selkie will always be drawn to the sea, but they can choose to stay with their love forever, as long as they can withstand the call of the water. If they _do_ go back to the sea… well.” Oliver paused, and his grin faltered a little. “Then they’re stuck as selkies for another seven years before they can return to the land.”

Marcus shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“They’ll have chosen their fate - seen true love and denied it. Fate’s string only stretches so far, and the call of the sea is too loud.”

“So, a selkie can shed their coat and shift whenever they want?” Marcus pressed, and Oliver nodded. “Unless they fall in love. And then they have to figure it out and basically be miserable whatever they choose?”

Oliver paused, clearly thought this over, and then nodded. “Sounds about right, yeah.”

Marcus snorted. “Sounds like my sexuality,” he mumbled, and Oliver glanced at him - incredulous for a moment, before he burst out laughing.

“Let’s go for a walk down by the water. Clear our heads,” Oliver suggested, and Marcus nodded and stood to follow him down.

* * *

They fell silent as they reached the edge of the water, and Marcus couldn’t help but awkwardly stick his hands into his pockets. Oliver stood on the edge of the water, staring out as if he could see something far away. There was something about the sight - the way Oliver’s entire posture had seemed to shift, and the strange pensive look that had slotted onto his face - that twisted Marcus’s stomach into a tight knot that he couldn’t break out of.

Then, Oliver turned and stepped towards him, and paused a foot away. Marcus flicked his eyes over Oliver’s face, and then cleared his throat.

“I had a good time,” Marcus admitted, and Oliver’s face broke out into a grin.

“I did as well.”

Marcus nodded, and pulled a hand from his pocket. He hesitated for a moment, and then lifted his fingers to brush across Oliver’s cheek. The skin was as smooth as it looked, cool despite the small flush that had broken out at Marcus’s touch. He knew, then, that he was standing in front of something major, something important. That what he chose to do now would change the course of his life. Marcus wasn’t a soft person, and didn’t usually dedicate this much time to thinking about his feelings. And yet, he _knew_ \- if he let himself, he could fall in love with this man.

The look in Oliver’s eyes seemed to say the same thing.

So Marcus did the only thing that felt reasonable, and he leaned forward and caught Oliver’s lips with his own. Oliver reached out and slid a hand around the back of Marcus’s head, and the world seemed to spin and slow around them. Marcus wasn’t sure how long they stood there, pressed together, but when they broke apart his breathing was heavy and his heart was beating and he had to swallow down the urge to drag Oliver back to the cottage and never let him leave again.

“I want to see you again,” Oliver whispered, their mouths still only inches apart. Marcus nodded quickly, and stepped back, reluctantly letting go of the other man.

“Definitely,” Marcus agreed verbally, and then stepped back again. He wanted to stay, to drag this night out, but he knew it was better to be careful and take his time. The last thing he wanted was to scare Oliver away - again. And so, he took one last look at the blonde, tried to burn the image of a flushed and grinning Oliver into his brain, and then turned completely and headed back up for the cottage.

When he reached the top of the hill and heard an all too familiar _splash_ in the water, he did the best he could to push it out of his mind completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments after part one! They mean so much to me.
> 
> A quite note that the selkie lore Oliver talks about was kind of cobbled together from a handful of different selkie myths & legends, but I tried to stick to the prominent parts! Fun fact: it's now believed that selkie myths started because of the Spaniards, whose long dark hair from a distance may have resembled seals skins.
> 
> In case you missed it: this is part two of four of the giveaway fic that flintwoodandco won from my tumblr a few months ago. all four parts are written and will be posted soon - part three on monday and part four on tuesday!
> 
> Sidebar: has anyone figured out my overly-clever chapter naming scheme yet? ;) there was a hint in this part, though you may need to wait to see the others to figure it out. I will say, this fic was originally planned at three parts, which has a hand in what I was doing. I'll explain it in the notes for part four, if you haven't guessed by then!


	3. part three - atropos [completion]

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

Oliver shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly, wincing as the duffel bag slung over one of his shoulders slipped down into the crook of his elbow.

Marcus frowned, but reached out to take the large trunk out of Oliver’s hands. It was lighter than it looked, for a large old trunk, and he backed up into the house to let Oliver into the hallway.

“Seriously,” Marcus pressed, as Oliver dropped the duffel bag and then his backpack down onto the hallway floor and turned to shut the door. “This is _all_ your stuff? You’re not, like, only half moving in so that if we break up you can just cut and run and not lose all your shit?” Marcus was joking, _mostly_ , but he clearly couldn’t keep the slightly hurt look from his eyes.

Oliver shook his head and reached out to take the trunk from Marcus’s arms, setting it down before turning to tug Marcus into a deep kiss. “Of course not,” he reassured his boyfriend, moving to press a kiss to Marcus’s forehead. “I just… don’t own a lot of stuff. I’m, ah…” Oliver struggled for a minute before he let out a sigh and then another resigned shrug. “I’m dead broke, actually.”

Marcus raised a brow, took this in, and then nodded. “Well, not anymore you’re not. Let’s take a look at what you’ve got - then we’re going shopping.”

“What do you mean?” Oliver asked quickly, backing up almost instinctively towards the trunk.

“When my dad died, he left me a pretty hefty chunk of inheritance money. Clearly I’m not using much of it, paying for this place. So, let me buy you some stuff. Some more clothes, at least. That’s why you don’t have a mobile, right?”

Oliver shifted uncomfortably and looked down at the floor, clearly studying the grain of the wood as a way to avoid Marcus’s eyes. “Yeah, something like that.”

Marcus nodded with finality. “Right. Well that’s settled then. You can’t not have a mobile phone, Oliver. Not in this day and age. C’mon, let’s get your stuff into our room and figure out what you need. Then we’re going shopping.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“Oliver,” Marcus paused, turning back and capturing Oliver’s cheeks in his hands so he could peer into the man’s eyes. “You’re my boyfriend. You’re moving in with me. My father was… not a good person, Oliver, and he left me money that he certainly didn’t obtain legally. I’ve been trying to think of a way to spend it that makes me feel good - I bought this place, I fixed my boat. Just… let me spoil you, just this once? I… I _love_ you, Oliver, and I want you to have everything you need.”

Oliver bit his lip, clearly uncomfortable, but as he thought it over he watched the telltale spark of mischief flash in his boyfriend’s eyes. “Well, I suppose when you put it like that, yeah, okay. You can spoil me. Just this once. I love you too, you know.”

Marcus laughed, kissed Oliver briefly on the lips, and leaned over to pick up the trunk that was still on the ground.

“No!” Oliver almost shouted, and reached forward quickly. Marcus froze, one hand still reaching out towards the trunk, and Oliver winced as he realized what he’d done. “I just mean… there’s nothing-” he paused, and managed a smile for Marcus. “All that’s in there is my mom’s old stuff, everything I have left from her before she… before she died. I just… don’t want anything to happen to it, and it… hurts to look at. Can we just leave that one closed, please?”

“Yeah,” Marcus mumbled, pulling back from the trunk and trying to ignore the feeling that there was something Oliver wasn’t telling him. “Yeah, let’s just go into town now, okay?”

“Thanks,” Oliver breathed, and kissed Marcus’s cheek in thanks.

“Anything for you, babe,” Marcus agreed with a careful grin, and did his best to push the thought of the trunk’s contents into the back of his mind. That had always, afterall, been one of his talents.

* * *

“Are you honestly fucking serious, right now?” Oliver snapped, and Marcus watched as his fingers tightened around the mug in his hands, knuckles whitening around the ceramic handle.

“Look, all I said was that-”

“What you _said_ ,” Oliver nearly growled, half-slamming the mug down onto their table as he did so. “What you _said_ is that you think I’m an absolute idiot. I might as well just stop fucking talking now, because clearly I’m so dense nothing I’m saying makes sense anyways!”

Marcus huffed and slammed his own mug down on the table. “You aren’t listening to me at all, Oliver. And yeah, actually, nothing you’re saying _is_ making sense!”

“How _dare_ you!”

“Are you listening to _yourself_ now, Oliver?” Marcus threw his hands up in the air and stood from their table, knocking the chair he was sitting on over in the process with a large _thud_. “You’ve said stupid shit before, babe, but this one honestly might be taking the cake.”

“Before?” Oliver roared, following Marcus into a standing position, his own chair clattering against the flagstones in the kitchen, the noise echoing around the small room. “Please, do tell me all the stupid things I’ve said that you were _just too kind to point out_!”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Marcus retorted, clenching his hands into fists and suppressing the urge to scream. “You know, Pansy warned me about the Scottish temper, clearly I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

Oliver let out a noise of disgust and crossed his arms. “Oh, okay. So this is about me being _Scottish_ then, is it? And Pansy - who, might I add, has never actually _met me_ \- said that we Scots have a bit of a temper, eh? You want me to show you what my temper looks like, Marcus?”

“She’s never met you because you refuse to come to England with me,” Marcus muttered under his breath. Clearly that was the wrong thing to say, because Oliver was suddenly on his side of the table, shoving, and Marcus had his back against the wooden wall behind them and his boyfriend pressed up against his front. Oliver’s face was red and hot and inches from his lips and although Marcus was still _angry_ right through to his core, he also couldn’t deny the enjoyment of feeling Oliver’s body against his own.

“I told you, I don’t travel well,” Oliver hissed, pressing his hands a little harder into Marcus’s chest. “You said that was _fine_ , so don’t go getting all bloody passive-aggressive on me now, _Marcus_.”

“Oh trust me, I’m not the passive-aggressive one here.” Marcus bit out, and before he had a chance to respond again, Oliver had crashed his lips down onto Marcus’s and fisted his hands in the other man’s shirt. “Hey!” Marcus protested, pulling back as much as he could and only gaining an inch between them. “We’re having an argument right now!”

Oliver growled, and ground his hips forwards, and Marcus’s protests died in the air. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who got a fuckin’ hard-on in the middle of the argument,” he murmured, lips now against Marcus’s ear.

Marcus huffed a little, but couldn’t help his hands travelling down to Oliver’s hips, digging his fingers into the bones and pushing his own hips back in response. “Fine,” he conceded, tilting his head to the side to give Oliver better access to his neck. “But we’re not done here.”

“Mmm,” Oliver hummed, dragging his tongue along the shell of Marcus’s ears. “Sure, baby, whatever you say…”

* * *

“Oliver, come on, you said you were coming,” Marcus called. He was standing outside of the cottage and still trying to shove one of his feet into his trainers, hopping half on one foot with the other hand tucked into the edge of his shoe.

Oliver, on the other hand, was standing on the edge of the hill, staring out towards the water like he _missed_ it, like he had left something out there and he might never get it back. Marcus caught him like this a lot - at the kitchen window, down by the water, on their way into town. In the months that they had lived together, it seemed to happen with more and more frequency; Oliver was lost, and he was searching for the answers out in the frothy waves.

“Oliver?” Marcus pressed again, stepping closer to his boyfriend. “Babe, you still with me?” He half teased.

Finally, Oliver shook his head and turned away and flashed Marcus a winning smile. “Always,” he joked back, and jogged over to his boyfriend. “Race you?” And then he took off like a flash, headed in the opposite direction, and Marcus burst out laughing.

“Snake!” Marcus called, as he chased after Oliver, out towards the roads and the hills and the Scottish countryside that he had grown so fond of.

“No way!” Oliver shouted over his shoulder, laugher following over the wind towards Marcus. “Snakes can’t run _this_ fast!”

* * *

By the time the summer rolled across the hills again, in misty waves of cool dew and strained sunshine trying to peek through the clouds, Oliver and Marcus had fallen quite comfortably into their domestic routine. Oliver liked to make breakfast, often experimenting by throwing things together and seeing what would happen. Marcus tended to put his head down and eat whatever it was that was put in front of him - thankfully, because Oliver’s creations weren’t always very much more than edible.

Marcus did most of the errands, though they often hiked into town together when they needed things rather than take the car. Oliver didn’t know how to drive, which he shrugged off by saying it had never been necessary, growing up poor in a small town, so when Marcus didn’t want to bother they walked instead. They ran together too, and that’s where they’d been that particular morning, bombing down the hills and panting their way back up, laughing and teasing each other as they went.

When they arrived back at the cottage, Oliver reached down to tug off his sweat drenched shirt. The July sun had warmed up the day considerably, and while it still wasn’t what Marcus would consider _hot_ , it certainly was warmer than it had been.

“What’re you doing?” Marcus asked, as he realized that Oliver had dropped the shirt and was now stepping out of his shoes.

“Too hot,” Oliver complained, reaching down to pull off his socks and add them to the pile. “Going to jump in the ocean.”

Marcus shook his head incredulously. “It’s freezing,” he said.

Oliver shrugged, and turned to jog off down the path. “I’m warm blooded,” he called back.

Marcus stood and debated for a moment, before he finally decided that he wasn’t going to let Oliver show him up. He caught up with Oliver halfway down the hill and had pulled off his own shirt before he hit the sand. He was nearly out of his shoes when Oliver hit the edge of the water and let out a quick yelp at the temperature.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” Oliver shouted then, and took three great strides into the water before jumping into a dive and disappearing under the glassy surface.

It took Marcus another moment of hesitation, standing by the edge of the cool sea, before he inhaled deeply and went for it, running forward a few steps and letting out a warrior-worthy yell before jumping off the edge of the drop off and into the deep.

A few feet away, Oliver’s head popped up and he laughed as Marcus surfaced, spluttering and swearing under his breath about the temperature of the water. Oliver lifted a hand and hit the water and sent a spray of water towards Marcus, who ducked down to avoid it. They spent nearly ten minutes like this, splashing back and forth, Marcus swearing whenever he got hit and Oliver doing his best to focus his aim. And then Marcus heard another noise behind them and he stopped, holding a finger up to shush Oliver as he turned in the water.

Not twenty feet in front of them swam a pod of seals. Marcus gasped, and did his best to slow his movements in the water. He wanted to stay afloat, of course, but he didn’t want to scare off the animals that were coming so close to them. “Wow,” he whispered, still in shock. He hadn’t seen the seals around much recently.

Oliver was quiet, and so Marcus assumed he was just following suit. He didn’t turn and notice that Oliver was nearly paralyzed, his face frozen somewhere between shock and sadness. Instead, Marcus was focused on the animals, which he was scanning over hurriedly.

“That’s weird, he’s not here,” he mumbled, looking again over the heads of the seals and trying to see if he missed him. Oliver didn’t respond, so Marcus figured he was waiting for Marcus to explain himself. “There was this one seal, used to see him all the time last year. I know they all kind of look alike but… I’m pretty sure it was always the same one. I hope he’s okay…”

And then Oliver finally let out a choked sob and there was a splash as he sped off towards the land.

Marcus turned, finally, and blinked at the spot his boyfriend had just been treading water in. “Oliver?” He shouted, and took off after the other man. By the time he caught up, Oliver had pulled himself half up onto the beach and was sobbing, his chest heaving and shoulders shaking. He was mumbling something through the tears and Marcus rushed over to him, wrapping his arms around his sobbing boyfriend. He had never seen Oliver come apart like this, and it was starting to worry him.

“Oliver?” Marcus pressed, as Oliver’s sobs began to quiet and his body started to still.

“I… I miss my family… my friends… I miss… everyone…”

Marcus frowned a little, rubbing his hand over Oliver’s back. “Babe, why don’t we go visit them? You never talk about your friends, or… even really talk _to_ them. We can go today, if you want, back to-”

“I _can’t_!” Oliver half snapped, and Marcus frowned. “I can’t, they’re gone… they’re all gone and… I can’t ever see them again.”

It only took a minute for Oliver’s meaning to sink in and Marcus swallowed. How could all of Oliver’s friends be dead? But, the way his boyfriend was still shaking against him, he couldn’t imagine it meaning anything else. “Fuck,” he whispered against Oliver’s hair.

“You’re… you’re it for me, Marcus. You’re all I have.”

Marcus swallowed at this, and pressed his lips against Oliver’s temple softly. “Marry me,” he breathed, and Oliver stilled completely in his arms, turning a little to better look at his face.

“What?”

“You…” Marcus winced internally, that he had messed this up so badly. It was something he had wanted for months. He had found the person he wanted to be with forever, and now he was proposing while they lay on the beach, soaking wet and freezing cold. “It’s… Oliver, you’re all I need, you’re everything I want. I can’t bring your family back, or your friends. I can’t… I can’t replace what you’ve lost. But, I want you to know you have me, and you’ll _always_ have me. If… if you want to.”

Oliver let out a brief laugh and nodded, reaching up to grasp Marcus’s face in his cool fingers. “Yes,” he breathed, and kissed Marcus firmly on the lips. “ _Yes_.”

* * *

Marcus hadn’t been expecting it to be so windy out. From the house, the ocean had looked almost calm in his little bay, and he hadn’t seen the storm coming.

For a while, he was handling it alright. He had been sailing a lot recently, and he was strong and confident in his abilities. Just that morning he’d been talking to Oliver about how he always felt the most at home when he was out on the water, feeling the waves hum under the hull of the boat, the sheets tight in his hands as he pulled back against the wind and harnessed its power to propel himself. Oliver had made some half-hearted remark about not getting to cocky, that the sea was a fickle mistress, and Marcus had laughed off his boyfriend's - his _fiancé’s_ \- superstitious attitude.

Now, that the wind was so strong he could barely keep his sails under control, that the waves were crashing up over the edge of the hull, he was starting to wonder if he should have taken Oliver’s warning more seriously.

And then, there was a crash of thunder, and the winds shifted fast. The boom swung across the boat and Marcus had time to shout once - loudly - before it collided with his skull with a sickening _crack_ and everything went black.

* * *

Oliver was in the cottage still, standing in the kitchen and staring out the window over the bay. He noticed when the clouds started to darken, and noticed when the water started to froth. He couldn’t help the anxiety that was starting to build in his chest, that was pressing on his shoulders like an immovable weight. Instead, he forced himself to breathe deeply, to remember that Marcus knew what he was doing, that Marcus could get himself home safely.

And then there was a crack of thunder, and Oliver watched in horror as a body fell over the edge of the tiny boat, and the boat itself collapsed into the water.

Oliver took a breath, waited for Marcus’s head to pop back up, waited for his boyfriend to emerge from the depths of the frothy sea. Instead, nothing happened, and he knew. He knew that he could stay up here at the cottage, hope that Marcus turned up.

Or.

Or, he could go.

It only took another heartbeat to decide. There was no point to life here without Marcus. No point to humanity without the one he lived for.

No point to life in any form, without Marcus alive and breathing.

And so he ran back towards the room, flung open his trunk, grabbed the contents, and took off down the hill faster than he had ever moved before on two legs.

* * *

Marcus coughed, and everything hurt. His chest felt like it was on fire, and his head was _pounding_ , and his entire body ached in a way that felt all wrong. He coughed again, and moved his hand, and realized he was lying on sand. Finally, he blinked his eyes open and hissed at the bright grey light in his eyes, and he closed them again and tried to remember what exactly had happened.

He had been… sailing? Or thinking about going sailing? Had he been talking to Oliver about the way the sky looked? It hurt too much to think and he blinked his eyes opened again and tried to sit up.

Which was, it seemed, a universally bad idea, because it made his head roll and his stomach lurch and he nearly vomited. Instead, he managed to lie back down and forced himself to take deep breaths until everything steadied again.

“Oliver?” he mumbled, and opened his eyes again. It had finally settled in that he was on the beach, and he felt so terrible he wasn’t entirely sure that he was fully alive, and he glanced around again. And there, just in front of him, was a seal.

_The_ seal.

Marcus winced, and lifted a hand to rub at the sore spot on his head, and suddenly something hit him light a freight train - like a ton of bricks - and he couldn’t believe he had never figured it out before.

“Oliver?” he tried again, and the seal barked once and nodded, and started to slip backwards towards the water.

Marcus let out a strangled sob and reached forward, trying to grasp for the creature, to pull him back. “You gave up the sea for me?” he whispered, and the seal nodded again, and Marcus had to shut his eyes and take a deep shuddering breath, because crying hurt too much - everything hurt too much - and now _this_.

“But,” he paused, tried to remember the story Oliver had told him about selkies all that time ago while his brain swam around him and his stomach clenched. “Can you… can you change back?”

The seal blinked at him, and closed it’s eyes, and Marcus bit down on his lip. He wasn’t sure what it would look like, when his boyfriend stepped out of the seal skin. All he knew what that he needed Oliver’s hands on his face, Oliver’s lips on his skin. He blinked again, and realized the edges of his vision were starting to fuzz, and the seal - _Oliver_ \- swayed on the spot.

And then, the world went black once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TLDR from the previous two notes: flintwoodandco won this fic in a giveaway I did over on my tumblr in January/February! This is part 3 of 4, and part 4 will be posted tomorrow.
> 
> More fun selkie facts! Another possible origin for the selkie myths were Indigenous North American travellers. They travelled in kayaks, low down to the water, over which they draped seal skins to keep warm and waterproof. That, combined with dark hair and dark skin, may have led the Vikings (& the Scots!) to believe that it was a seal who washed up on land, and a beautiful person who emerged!


	4. part four - moirai [fate]

When Marcus woke up again, everything was dark. He was so cold he could barely feel his fingers, and even though his head still throbbed it felt slightly less like his skull was about to implode at any moment. With a grunt, he pushed himself up onto unsteady feet and swallowed to try and clear the dryness out of his throat.

It took him ten minutes to stumble his way up the hill and to the cottage, and he frowned when he realized the door was open.

“Oliver?” he called out, voice hoarse and ragged, as he closed the door behind it and sunk down against the wood, taking deep breaths. The hill had drained any of the energy he had left, and he wasn’t sure he could make it into their bed by himself. He still wasn’t sure what had happened - _had_ he been sailing? - and it was especially concerning that his boyfriend was nowhere to be found.

“Ol?” Marcus tried again, groaning and closing his eyes as the sound echoed through the empty house.

Empty.

Marcus sat for a long moment against the door, taking deep measured breaths and trying to summon the energy to crawl into the bedroom and see if Oliver had already fallen asleep. Why hadn’t the other man come looking for him? How had he managed to pass out on the beach? Nothing made sense, though his entire brain felt slightly like mush, so Marcus wasn’t sure if he was the right person to be trying to sort out a series of events at all, let alone determining how much sense something made.

Finally, he stood. With the help of the walls to lean on, Marcus made it into their bedroom, and frowned again. Something was wrong, his brain alerted, as he glanced over and noticed the empty bed. Something was _wrong_ , he thought, as he realized Oliver’s coat and shoes were still sitting by the door. Something was **_wrong_ ** \- because the trunk was open. And the only thing inside it was Oliver’s ring.

Marcus stumbled into the room and dropped down to his knees in front of the large trunk, reaching inside to see if it really was as barren as it looked, avoiding the ring and hoping _he_ was wrong. The wood was cool and almost felt damp to the touch, and Marcus leaned closer and inhaled the all too familiar scent of salt water.

And then it all rushed back to him, and he crumpled a little closer to the ground in disbelief. It hadn’t been a fuzzy dream. Something had happened, he must have been sailing - though he still couldn’t remember that part - and Oliver wasn’t actually Oliver at all. Or, well, he _was_ , only he also happened to be a seal.

It was all too confusing for Marcus’s concussed brain to puzzle through and so he dragged himself up into the bed, sunk further into the covers that smelled like Oliver - salty and cool and fresh - and fell asleep with his tears still drying down onto his cheeks.

* * *

It took Marcus four full days to shake the worst of the dizziness brought on by what was most definitely a concussion, and probably a partial drowning. His lungs still hurt when he coughed, and his brain swam if he tried to do any one task for too long, but the unbearable agony of the cottage had finally become too much.

He spent all of the fifth day packing - his things only. He couldn’t bring himself to go through the closet and pick out all the things he’d bought for Oliver and try and figure out to do with them. Every time he touched them another wave of sadness washed over him and it took far too much work to keep suppressing the emotions threatening to drown him.

And then there was the trunk. Marcus didn’t even have it in him to shut it, and so it sat empty and open and mocking him at the end of the bed. If he hadn’t been so _stupid_ , if he had just stayed home, Oliver wouldn’t have had to rescue him. Even that was fuzzy - Marcus was still coming to the realization that his boyfriend wasn’t exactly human, and remembering the specifics of what exactly a selkie _was_ seemed too hard to bear.

The thing that stood out, stark and loud in his brain, was that if a selkie fell in love and then went back to the water, they wouldn’t be able to return to land as a human for seven years.

_Seven years_.

Could he survive that long?

Finally, Marcus had the cottage fully packed and ready to go. Oliver’s clothes still hung in the cupboards and the trunk still sat open on the bedroom floor with the ring glinting up at him, and Marcus locked the door behind him with the thought that he might never come back.

_Seven years_.

He could barely stand to look out at the water as he loaded up the boot of his car. Over the past year, the amount of things he owned had barely grown at all, and he had no problem fitting it all inside and slamming the door.

Marcus made the mistake, before he climbed into the driver's seat, of looking out at the water one last time. He wasn’t close enough to be a hundred percent sure, but he knew what the telltale splash in the bay meant, and he choked out a final sob before he started the car and drove away, forcing himself not to look back again as he left.

* * *

The first year was unbearable.

It took Marcus nearly six months to go an entire day without being dizzy from the concussion, and eight before he went an entire day without crying over his loss.

It didn’t help that he’d returned to a group of friends who were unaware of the pain he’d been through. Who looked at the ring on his finger and laughed and congratulated him and asked where the lucky girl was. Who didn’t get it, when Marcus said he was _gone_. Who thought he’d been dumped and decided he needed an attitude adjustment and a series of increasingly worse blind dates. Who laughed like that hadn’t lost what Marcus had - because they _hadn’t_ , and who didn’t understand, because they _couldn’t_.

* * *

The second year was sharp.

Marcus went entire days without crying, entire hours without thinking about Oliver. And then he’d catch sight of a head of sandy blonde hair, or bright blue eyes, and everything crashed down around him. It took weeks to pick up the pieces, sometimes, and those weeks were spent in darkened rooms with bottles of whatever he could get his hands on to make the time pass faster, faster.

Pansy recommended a therapist, who talked about _death_ and _grief_ and _living with loss_ and who screamed when Marcus threw his glass to the floor and watched in fascination as it shattered and spread and blood leaked from his palm.

Blaise recommended a nightclub, where the girls (and boys) were too pretty, too made up, too thin and lithe and malleable. The first one called Marcus “stoic”, but went home with him anyways. The second one said he was “damaged”, but led him into a nearby alleyway with a grin on his lips. The third, and final, had looked into his eyes and sighed, and said that he could never be what Marcus needed, and sent him on his way with a soft kiss and a promise that it could get better - if Marcus would let it.

Marcus didn’t think he wanted to let it. The pain was sharp, but it was _there_ , and if the pain was there, maybe Oliver was too.

* * *

The third year was dull.

Oliver was a memory, more than anything else. Sometimes Marcus opened a box he hadn’t dug into much and caught a whiff of salty ocean air and it was almost as if he was next to him again. But for the most part, Oliver didn’t exist as a real person so much as a fragment of Marcus’s mind - the lost sensation of togetherness and the taste of burnt cooking and the memory that once, he had been loved.

If it weren’t for the ring that he still wore on his left hand ring finger, Marcus might have been able to start to forget. His friends had, anyways. Draco called twice a week sometimes with someone else he could set Marcus up with. Adrian dropped by with beers every other Saturday and tried to goad Marcus into watching porn, or going to a strip club, or _anything at all_ to act like the single man he was supposed to be.

Instead, Marcus moved through his life quietly. He’d started working for Draco’s company, and he showed up in the morning and put his head down and worked all day and left. He didn’t make friends, or seek out hobbies. He turned up for things he was supposed to turn up for and tried not to drink more than seemed healthy and mostly avoided anything that could set off his memories again.

It was harder than it looked, but at least the pain remained dormant and instead of the sharp sting of loss and hurt, all Marcus was left with was the dull pressure of a ring on his finger and a reminder that once, he hadn’t been alone.

* * *

The fourth year, when everyone around him seemed to be starting their lives and getting married and moving on, was throbbing.

Draco’s wedding was first.

He married a bushy haired girl with dark skin and too long a name. She worked for the government, and laughed too loudly, and pulled a face when one of Draco’s older relatives made a thinly-veiled racist comment. Standing at the front of the Malfoy’s lavish ballroom, she glowed, and Draco’s smile seemed brighter than Marcus had ever seen it before when he walked towards her. The room clapped as they kissed and Marcus clapped too, and pretended to ignore the way his heart pounded into his chest and his eyes stung with the effort of holding back tears.

Terence and Adrian were married next, outside on the football pitch where they had met and grew up and fallen in love. Their wedding was bright and loud and the alcohol flowed freely, which was the only reason Marcus managed to survive the day without a breakdown. It was, in some ways, how he had pictured his own wedding. It wasn’t formal, but it was _alive_ , and it was a constant reminder that Marcus’s stupidity had lost him the thing that mattered the most to him.

Pansy was the third and, thankfully, final wedding of the year. She married Daphne in the winter, with snow swirling around their shoulders and landing in their eyelashes. They nearly melted into the background, each in stunning white dresses with matching smiles on their faces. Marcus had been dragged outside for photos and had since lost sensation in his toes and fingers, and he stood and smiled as best as he could and tried to figure out how to numb his heart in the same way. Pansy had tugged him aside, halfway through the reception, and kissed his cheek and told him that she loved him anyways, even though he was being an idiot, and that one day he would be just as happy as she was.

Marcus had nodded, and promised her he would. He couldn’t stand the pain anymore.

* * *

The fifth year was different.

After four years of pain, Marcus was _tired_. His body ached, and his heart _hurt_ , and he was tired of being sad and alone and empty.

So he tried to move on.

The first date was a disaster. Marcus had spilled his wine over the table and the girl across from him huffed and turned her nose up, mumbling about a hundred dollar dress and his giant clumsy hands.

The second date was better, with a smiling raven haired boy who didn’t laugh when Marcus stumbled over reading out the wine menu, and explained with an open heart that he understood loss and heartbreak.

The third date was with a man with broad shoulders and bright red hair tied back in a ponytail. He took Marcus to a bar called _The Reserve_ and made a joke about dragons that seemed a little too on the nose, but made Marcus laugh anyways.

The fourth date, with the same redhaired man, was _fun_ \- a sensation Marcus had forgotten had existed. They rode a motorbike around the city, and Charlie, the redhead, laughed with wild abandon when Marcus mentioned feeling a little safer when he was on the edge of danger.

His sixth date, Charlie ended up in his apartment. And then, Charlie found the ring that lived on a chain around Marcus's neck, and snapped that he wasn’t going to be someone’s _mistress_.

Charlie understood, when Marcus tried to explain. Charlie stayed anyways.

Marcus woke up in another pair of arms and sobbed in the bathroom because everything about them was _wrong_.

There were no more dates.

* * *

The sixth year was stressful.

Marcus spent weeks pacing his apartment, trying to decided what he would do. He was pretty sure, all those years ago, that Oliver had said that after seven years a selkie could return to the land. But, even Oliver had seemed confused about it and if it really worked.

And what if Oliver came back to the land and decided he was happier as a seal? What if he didn’t come back at all? What if he looked at Marcus and realized he’d been silly to love him at all?

What if, what if, what if, what if-

When he had mentioned to his friends that he wanted to look better, look younger, Blaise suggested dying his hair to get rid of the handful of grey strands that had popped up over the past few years. Draco tried to convince him to start an exercise routine, though he was so busy chasing after his two small children he didn’t have much more to say than “get your ass to the gym, Marcus!” Pansy and Daphne took him shopping and forced him to buy an armful of new sweaters and shoes and demanded that he throw out all of his tshirts.

He didn’t.

He did start running again, and halfway through the year decided he had to suck it up and signed up for a membership at his local pool.

At least, Marcus thought to himself one day as he towel dried off in the locker rooms and tried to ignore the way his heart was pounding traitorously out of his chest, at least if he was wrong, if Oliver couldn’t (or wouldn’t) come back for him, the sea could take him anyways - he had nothing left to lose.

* * *

The seventh year was alive.

Marcus, for the third and final time, packed his entire life into his car and said goodbye to a home he had grown into it. The drive to Scotland was nerve wracking, and it took all of his energy to keep his hands on the wheel and his tires on the road. He spent the ferry ride to the island with his eyes focused firmly inside the boat, not willing himself to look out towards the water. He worried, the entire way up his driveway, that things had changed too much. That he had lost his only chance.

He cried when he saw the cottage, and again when he unlocked the door. In seven years, not much had changed. There was a layer of dust coating every surface, but Oliver’s clothes still hung in the closet and his trunk still sat open at the foot of the bed.

And now that he was here, Marcus was terrified. He spent hours cleaning the entire house, beating back the dust, washing Oliver’s clothes, wiping the grime off the engagement ring that matched his and replacing it carefully inside the trunk. It all felt surreal - as though he was floating in a strange state of uncertainly, not sure if any of this was worth it. His life for the past six years had been floating precariously in the balance, and the future stretched out in front of him, unknown and uncertain.

Finally, he couldn’t put it off any longer, and he began the trek down towards the water. It all felt so similar, but different enough that he could feel that things had changed. He was different, now. Would Oliver be? Did he age, as a seal? Would he be happy that Marcus was back? Sad that he left? Angry that Marcus had led to this in the first place?

Marcus shed his shoes and climbed out onto his rock - _their_ rock, and settled in, staring out at the water. Nothing happened, just the gentle sway of the ocean and the splash of waves around him, and he let out a soft sigh. “Oliver,” he whispered, and the name felt foreign and yet all too familiar on his tongue. “I’m sorry,” he tried, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry that I was such an idiot, that I… that I ruined everything. I’m sorry I left you… I’m sorry I couldn’t-” Marcus had to swallow back a sob, and he barely felt the tears that tracked down his cheeks, dripped off his chin into the water below. “I’ve missed you,” he said, tears running more freely now. “Seven years without you was hell, Oliver, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so-”

Marcus was cut off by a splash and he opened his eyes faster than he ever had before. The sight in front of him pulled another sob from his throat and he shook his head in disbelief at the seal that floated in the water in front of him. Not just any seal.

Oliver.

Marcus nearly tripped off the rock and waded out another foot into the frigid waters, reaching a hand out towards the creature. He watched as the seal, as Oliver blinked once, and then twice. And then he watched as the seal skin began to fall. And then there was a body crashing into his, long arms around his back, the scent of salt water filling his nostrils and the warm solid feeling of Oliver in his arms.

“Marcus,” Oliver gasped, crying in earnest as they held each other. Oliver was naked, and clinging to his sealskin with one hand - Marcus could feel it against his back. “Marcus, you came back,” Oliver cried, and Marcus nodded.

“Of course, of course I came back,” he murmured, holding Oliver as tightly as he could. “I had to… I couldn’t be here, those years. I couldn’t see you and not be with you, I… I’m so sorry that I left, Oliver. I’m so sorry that I-”

“Not your fault,” Oliver mumbled, pulling back to stare into Marcus’s eyes, a grin breaking out across your chest. “You’re here now.”

Marcus nodded, and he wasn’t sure which one of them leaned in first but their lips touched and seven years of loneliness, seven years of pain and heartbreak and _dull, throbbing, sharp_ ended abruptly and faded like a distant memory.

Together, they stumbled out of the water, and Oliver reached out, pressing the skin into Marcus’s hands, watching as his boyfriend marvelled and skimmed his hands across it. Marcus glanced up, then, holding onto it and not wanting to let go but also not wanting to make the decision, not wanting to be the fisherman who trapped his love on land.

“But,” he mumbled, looking down at the skin and then back to Oliver, understanding the weight of what was happening between them. This was more than a marriage proposal, more than a whispered _I love you_ or a frenzied kiss in the middle of the night. This was everything. “You’ll be miserable.”

Oliver’s smile was sad, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from tracking back out over the water, seeking out the pod of seals he knew were hovering nearby, waiting. They knew what was coming, knew what would happen if he left. They had said their goodbyes and made their peace, and promised to find him if they were summoned too. “I’ve never been as miserable as I was these seven years without you,” he admitted, with a half shrug. “ _You’re it for me, Marcus_ ,” he said, stepping forward and catching Marcus’s jaw in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. “You’ve always been it for me.”

“Forever?” Marcus whispered, trying to keep his voice as steady as he could. This had been his dream, had been the only thing he wanted for years. But now it was here, and he had to be sure.

“Forever,” Oliver confirmed, and his face broke into a dazzling grin. “Take me home, Marcus,” he whispered, lacing their fingers together and tugging the man away from the beach, pulling himself away from his old life and towards his destiny. “We have some catching up to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support and love on the fic so far! Sorry about leaving the last part the way I did... Well, mostly sorry anyways. ;) If you missed me saying it before: this was the fic that flintwoodandco won from the giveaway I did over on my tumblr!! The selkie idea is ENTIRELY theirs, I just ran with it.
> 
> I'm all out of fun selkie facts, but I do have the explanation behind the chapter titles. @scourgify over on tumblr figured it out and figured out the trajectory of the fic because of it, haha, but this chapter was hopefully a good surprise! (Spoilers below, if you're for some reason reading this before you read the chapter.) (Yenna also made an [amazing mood board](http://scourgify.tumblr.com/post/159454222644/flintwoods-bingo-challenge-mythology-au-but) that you should check out!)
> 
> It comes from the Greek idea of the three fates (also called Moirai) who control your fate & destiny. (Which is also, in turn, connected to the three witches of Macbeth / the weird sisters who Marcus references in the second part.) The first of the three fates is Clotho, the spinner, who creates the thread of your life life. The second is Lachesis, the allotter, who measures the length of thread each person will have. And the third and final is Atropos, the inevitable, the one who decides when and where to cut each person's thread.
> 
> I tied this together with the Chinese legend of the "red string of fate", the thread the connects from your little finger to that of your destined soul mate. So, in part one, Marcus creates their thread by crying into the ocean and summoning Oliver to him. In part two, the length of their thread is measured when Oliver explains the myths and legends around selkies (you don't think I'd mention the 7 years thing and then not use it, no??). In part three their thread is severed: Marcus technically died, though Oliver was able to get his heart going again, and Oliver has to abandon his life as a human in order to save him. And then, part four, when we learn that even despite all of the threads these two were fated for each other from the beginning. Nothing can get in the way of the destiny of true love.
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of the fic that [@flintwoodandco](flintwoodandco.tumblr.com) won as part of my tumblr giveaway back in...January? February?? Anyways. They came to me with the brilliant selkie idea and I ran with it, and well, here we are! 
> 
> It's all written and just being beta'd now, but the plan is to post one part a day until it's done. There are four parts, so it SHOULD all be up for you by Tuesday! I hope you enjoy! If so, please let me know, I love hearing from you guys. Either here or through [my tumblr!](hexmionegranger.tumblr.com)


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